
Book ,3A_S'.S 
IS9l 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



MABEL. 



ROSES FOR MABEL 



LYRICS AND MUSINGS 



BY 

FRANK ROE BATCHELDER 



"/ £ive you the roses of love," said he. 

Louise Chandler Moulton. 



WORCESTER 

PRINTED PRIVATELY 

MDCCCXCI 



Copyright, i8gi, 
By Frank Roe Batchelder. 



The Author's Private Press. 



THE DEDICATION. 



TO MABEL, 

to whose love and gentle ivfluence I owe my noblest 
thoughts, my loftiest ideals, my mcmliest endeavors, 
a7id in tchose compa?donship the happiest days 
of my life have been spent, I send this little 
book, to speak for me the countless lov- 
ing thoughts that tvell up in my 
heart and go forth to her, find- 
ing her out, wherever 
she may be. 






SOUVENIR EDITION. 
THIS COPY, No. 2,(p 

PRESENTED TO 

1 'MMri^ ISnt 



CONTENTS. 




^ABFT 


PAGE 


Mabel's Easter Roses .... 


I 


Manhood 


3 


To Thee, Beloved 


5 


Zephyr and Shadow .... 


8 


The Rose and the Flandkerchief 


lO 


A Heart-Ache 


13 


In a Volume of Frederick Locker's Poems 


16 


What is Love? ;■ . 


iS 


To One in the North .... 


20 


Love Saw the Likeness 


22 


My Playful Puss 


23 


Lost- Land 


26 


The New Cupid 


28 


Partners ...... 


30 


Love Forsaken 


32 


October 


zz 


Recompense ...... 


34 



Vm CONTENTS. 






PAGE 


Ebb Tide 


36 


Ma Reine .... 


• 37 


I Will Be Patient .... 


38 


In Illness 


• 39 


The Matchless 


40 


To Sleep 


41 


Mabel's Handkerchief 


42 


Waiting ..... 


. 43 


Beloved 


44 


A Vision 


• 45 


Plymouth Chimes .... 


47 


Thanksgiving Day .... 


• 50 


If Dreams Were Only Dreams 


51 


Poppies ..... 


• 52 


Periwinkle ...... 


53 


A Rhyme and a Book for Mabel 


• 55 


At the Concert 


57 


Love's Query .... 


• 59 


When My Ship Comes In . . 


60 


A Valentine to My Love at Vassar . 


. 61 


Ballade of a Pleasant Recollection 


(^z 


Off the Stage .... 


• 65 


THE MINSTREL AFIELD. 




Christ's Church 


71 



CONTENTS. 



John Boyle O'Reilly 

Beau Brummell . 

Senator Hoar 

Father McGlynn 

The Proudest Name 

Growing 

My Dead Friend . 

A Pleasant Reception 

Thanksgiving 

The March of the Heroes 

That Dearest of Days 

Afterward . 

Ghosts . 

The Venture-Bark of Hope 

Pine Grove School . 

Grandmamma 

In Old Saint John's 

At Vespers 

A Mohammedan 

Unprepared 

My Morning Walk Home 

Skeletons 

A Message 

The Cannon Shot at Fortress Monroe 



PAGE 

73 
76 

77 
78 
80 
82 
84 
86 
88 
90 

93 
95 
96 

97 
99 

lOI 

103 

106 
107 
108 
III 

113 
114 



X CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

COMEDY 

The Unexpected . . . . .119 

A Fair Gambler . . . . . 121 

In Quarantine . . . . .124 

My Neighbor Sweat . . . . 126 

Temp-ra Mut-nt-r . . . .128 

The New Riley . . . . . 130 
At the End of the Waltz .... 133 

NOTES 137 



I shall never, in the years remaining, 
Paint you pictures, no, nor carve you statues. 
Make you music that should all express me ; 
So it seems : I stand on my attainment; 
This of verse alone one life alloivs me; 
Verse and nothing else have I to give you. 
Other heights in other lives, Ood ■willing — 
All the gifts from, all the heights, your own, Love I 

Yet a semblance of resource avails us — 
Shade so finely touched, love''s sense must seize it. 
Take these lines, look lovingly and nearly. 
Lines I write the first time and the last time. 

Take and keep my fifty poems finished ; 
Where tny heart lies, let my brain lie also. 

Oh, their Rafael of the dear Madonnas, 
Oh, their Dante of the dread Inferno, 
Wrote one song — and in my brain 1 sing it. 
Drew one angel — borne, see, on my bosom ! 

Browning : One Word More. 



MABEL. 

Beating heart I we come again 
WJtere my love reposes : 

This is MabeVs windoiv-pane ; 
TJiese are MabeVs roses. 

Frederick Locker : 

At Her WindoAV, 



ROSES FOR MABEL. 



MABEL'S EASTER ROSES. 

RADIANT morning, blessed Easter, day that 
comest as of old. 
Bringing still the wondrous promise that the Res- 
urrection told, 
Thou shalt hear again the music that our lips have 

learned to sing. 
And the prayers that rise like incense unto Christ, 
our Lord and King. 

Earth shall wake and catch the impulse of the 

Resurrection song ; 
Nature, joining in the chorus, shall the praise of 

men prolong ; 
Birds and brooks and fiowers shall hear it, and 

from dumbness summon voice. 
Till the least of God's creations finds a reason to 

rejoice. 

Easter roses, truant children of the summer that 

we lost, 
Ye have lingered, finding sunshine, never fearful of 

the frost ; 



2 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

There is one who loves your perfume, one who 
loves the Christ that died : 

Go to her, ye roses, carry blessings of the Easter- 
tide. 

Spread your perfume round about her ; bid her 
happiness increase ; 

Let the heart that never falters know a never- 
failing peace ; 

She hath followed in His footsteps who for us was 
sacrificed ; 

Easter morn shall bring her nearer, nearer to the 
blessed Christ. 



MANHOOD. 



MANHOOD. 



-AT THE PORTAL. 



DAY SO long looked for, thou art here at last, 
And boyhood's midnight trembles on the 
chime ; 
Push back the curtains of my soul, O Time, 
That I may have one long look at the past. 
With all its joys and sorrows, ere I cast 

My eyes on heights which yet remain to climb. 
And take my staff, and murmur out a rhyme. 
And wipe away the tear-drops coming fast. 

Tears now? Aye, all the heart's great wealth of 
tears, — 

Tears for the good that has been thrown away, — 
Tears for the squandering of golden years, — 

Tears for the pure love that I lost one day, — 
Tears for the careless words, the foolish fears. 

And things unsaid which it was mine to say. 

n. — sop^ow. 

Sorrow hath dwelt with me not over long, 
And yet, how changed the tenor of my days ! 
Sorrow that cut my heart as the knife flays, 

And yet a sorrow fit to make me strong, 



4 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

Quickening the dead soul that had died in wrong, 
And raising it in honor, to the praise 
Of the wise God, whose ways are not our ways — 

Who finds some good where evils thickest throng. 

And the dear friends — God bless them, every one ; 

First in my heart and first in all my good, 
She who hath taught me all save truth to shun, 

She who could read each varying thought and 
mood, 
And left no prayer unsaid, no work undone, 

Which might attest her joy in motherhood. 

III. MY LOST LOVE. 

And you, beloved? This day was to be 
Our gladdest day. Alas, we ;iit apart ; 
The old love burns undying in my heart ; 

And in yours — ah, therein I may not see. 

Pity you have, perhaps, in some degree, — 
You were so gentle — tender without art, — 
And though no tears to mine responsive start. 

Your happiness is happiness to me. 

Something my life lacks, which had made it great, 
And yet my life may therefore be more true ; 

Today I enter in at the new gate, 

Not proud and glad, but thinking, dear, of you. 

Not finding glory, now, in man's estate, 

But humbly meek, and with my heart in rue. 



TO THEE, BELOVED, 



TO THEE, BELOVED. . . 

I SEEM to see your little room. 
And, from it looking down, 
A face that once dispelled my gloom, 

And for me wore no frown. 
There from your window looking out, 

I wonder if you see 
The snow still lying round about, 
And no leaf on the tree. 

We walked, once, in the garden there, 

Adown the leafy aisle ; 
No spot on earth was then more fair, 

Since then I had your smile ; 
But you on Massachusetts hills 

Today behold the sun. 
And here a songbird comes and trills 

For me in Washington. 



ROSES FOR MABEL. 

Yet here, as there, still comes the day 

When Love shall rule the heart, 
The rich shall smile, the poor be gay. 

And tears forg«t to start. 
'T is Christmas-tide the whole land through. 

Amid New England's snows. 
Or here v/here the Potomac blue 

Down to the great sea flows. 

And Christmas brings that other time 

When I shall think of you, 
(Ah, if the tears be in my rhyme. 

It need not ring less true ! ) 
One more rose blossomed — one more year 

For womanhood to show. 
God bless you ! If it 's brought you cheer, 

Thank God it could be so. 

I send you roses from the South, — 

A book for silent hours, — 
Sweet words from a good woman's mouth, — 

The sweetest of the flowers ; 
And keep the book for Friendship's sake, 

If you will have no more. 
Though all the love you will not take 

Be lying at your door. 



TO THEE, BELOVED. . . 

But O my roses, you shall go 

To speak my message clear : 
I love her ; oh, I love her so ! 

Though she so cold appear. 
Go, make her tender heart to stir ; 

Whatever Friendship 's done, 
'T is only Love would send to her 

Roses from Washington ! 



ROSLS FCR >'ABEL. 



ZEPHYR AND SHADOW. 

A SOFT wind came from the dreamy south, 
And opened the blushing rose ; 
It brought a warm rain after the drouth, 

The violets to unclose ; 
And the morn seemed brighter, and earth more 
blest. 
Because of the opening flowers, 
Till the south-wind failed, and the wind blew west, 
And the drouth drank up the showers. 

When my lady woke and greeted the day. 

Her cheeks bloomed fair like the rose. 
And her tender eyes, in their own sweet way, 

Had the hue the violet knows ; 
And life grew brighter, and full of glee. 

And my heart leaped at her call ; 
Oh, queen among women — the dearest, she, 

And the fairest of them all ! 



ZEPHYR AND SHADOW. 

But the smile grew fainter and left her lips, 

And the love- light left her eyes ; 
The magic touch of her finger-tips 

Died out as the southwind dies ; 
The twilight came, for a little space, 

And the dear dream lingered on, 
Till the shadows shut me out from the place. 

And I looked — and she was gone ! 



lO ROSES FOR MABEL. 



THE ROSE AND THE HANDKERCHIEF. 

THEY keep close watch, together, 
Over my weary heart ; 
One from the soul of Nature, 
One from the hand of Art. 

Did it grow in the garden — 
This she wore on her breast — 

Where we once picked the roses, 
Where her love she confessed ? 

Late it lay on her bosom. 

Reaching a happy goal ; 
White were its dainty petals — 

Pure as her own white soul. 

Day by day it has withered. 

Fading with every davv'n. 
But though the leaves are crisping, 

Its sweetness is not gone. 



THE ROSE AND THE HANDKERCHIEF. 

Round about it, the other, 
Fair as the fair white bloom, 

Wraps the withering blossom 
Into a softened gloom. 

Soft are its folds on ray fingers ; 

My kiss its soft sheen knows ; 
And it hides the sudden teardrops 

Falling over her rose. 

In some far eastern country. 

The moth's thread grew, one day ; 

Quaint men fashioned the fabric, 
Far, far ofi" in Cathay. 

Then from the gentle giver 

It came one day to me, 
Sent with a loving greeting 

Over the smiling sea. 

Ever a faint, sweet odor 

Its silken folds give out, 
Just as her own sweet presence 

Makes Heaven round about. 

Souvenirs fondly cherished, 
All my heart-strings ye stir : 

One she chose for me only. 
One God fashioned for her. 



ROSES FOR MABEL. 

Since ye are pure as she is, 
Lie here, over my heart ; 

Teach me too to be holy, — 
Teach me the knightly part. 

And ye both shall cheer my spirit, 
Under the chastening rod. 

For I believe in Mabel 
As I beheve in God. 



A HEART- ACHE. 1 3 



A HEAR.T-ACHE. 

WHAT was the orchestra playing then ? 
Strange, how I happened to hear that 
strain — 
The old, old "Carnival" over again; 

But that was not all that brought the pain, 
For my eyes swept round the boxes above. 

And there, as fair as a queen on her throne. 
She sat — ah, the One ! my dear lost love. 
And I was below her, silent, alone. 

It was opening night, and the house was filled ; 

The hum of whisper and laugh rose loud ; 
And no one knew how my heart was chilled : 

I 'd nothing in common with the crowd. 
Pleasure ? Ah me, when it seemed so wrong : 

I should have been there by her side, 
And instead, I was all alone in the throng, 

Wishing again that I might have died. 



14 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

She was so beautiful ! Oh, that dress, 

Just as she wore it a year ago ; 
The very folds that I then could press 

Close to my heart, for I loved her so. 
I was so proud of her, too, that night, 

As we passed the people, her arm in mine, 
And I drank in out of her blue eyes bright 

The deepest measure of Love's wild wine. 

And then last night. O my tortured heart ! 

Can it be that I really merit this ? 
She v/as happy with others, and I, apart, 

Would have given my life to regain that bliss — 
To look again in her darling eyes, 

And see no shadow of chilling scorn. 
But the old glad welcome, the sweet surprise : 

Ah, it is all gone now, — all gone ! 

But I love her yet : I could die tonight, 

Smiling at Death, if I thought that she 
Would care for me, dead, even, as she might. 

Had Fate been a little kinder to me. 
She may doubt, she may scorn, she may turn away. 

Though my will is swayed by her lightest breath ; 
But whatever she do or think or say, 

I know that my love will last through death. 



A HEART- ACHE. 1 5 

The play-house is dark and silent now. 

But I never again can enter there 
Without a sight of that fair broad brow, 

Those soft blue eyes, and that golden hair. 
And kneeling, tonight, as I pray to God, 

I feel thai influence in me stir, 
And, bending to kiss His smiting rod, 

I pray He may make me more hke her. 

What of the play? It was like the rest : 

Love and war and a happy end. 
Real life is n't always so blessed : 

Sometimes hearts break and never mend ; 
And mine, do you think it has found relief, 

Though the merciful tears break forth and flow? 
Oh, my dear one — she has not seen my grief. 

But I love her, God knows, as she cannot know. 



1 6 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



IN A VOLUME OF FREDERICK LOCKER'S 
POEMS. 

Y well-loved poet ! Many times 
You 've heard me quote his happy rhymes, 
And now I send them here to you, 
That you may learn to love them, too. 

What has he sung? No selfish grief, 
No song of war, no praise of chief. 
But music coming from the heart. 
Untouched by all the arts of art. 

So goes he smiling down the years. 

His laughter sometimes dashed with tears. 

But with a heart whose tenderness 

Is more than this cold world can guess. 

I think he would be glad to know 
That these sweet rhymes of his will go 
To one whose heart is pure in tone — 
Whose soul is gentle — as his own. 



IN A VOLUME OF FREDERICK LOCKER's POEMS. I 7 

Simple and kind in every thought, 
His power came to him unsought ; 
Ah, were my own lyre tuned as true, 
What rhymes, my dear, I 'd write to you ! 



ROSES FOR MABEL. 



w 



WHAT IS LOVE? 

HAT is Love ? went the query round. 
Slowly each one an answer found. 



Love, said the maiden, is a youth, 
Pure in his purpose, strong in his truth. 
Noble in action, gentle in speech, 
Ready to learn or ready to teach, 
Full of the hero's spirit and fire. 
Regal in manner and in desire. 
Straight as Apollo, mild as a dove, — 
These are his glories, and this is Love. 

Love, said the young man, is a maid, 
Fair as the sunset's flush and shade, 
White of soul and gentle in mind. 
Sharing the griefs of all her kind. 
Ready to bear the world's sad stress, 
Filled with infinite tenderness, 
Moved by all that a heart may move, — 
These are her beauties, and this is Love. 



WHAT IS LOVE? 1 9 

So I heard them, and in my soul 
Something whispered me : Both are wrong ; 
Each hath part and neither the whole. 
Then the answer I 'd sought so long 
Came as a vision, and I heard 
This, the diviner law and word. 

Love is not human, for life is short, 

And Love has never passed from his court ; 

Love is wise as the stars are wise ; 

]\Ian has only earth-seeing eyes ; 

Love has never been touched by death ; 

What is life but a moment's breath? 

Love is not youth, for youth must err : 

Passions his unstained soul may stir ; 

Love is not as a maiden pure : 

Even her faith may not endure. 

Make Love grand and noble and wise. 

Give him a woman's tender guise, 

Fashion him as you can or may — 

This is not Love, for this is clay. 

Deep in my heart, then, the answer stirred ; 
This was what in my soul I heard : 
Love is a spirit, hid in the clod ; 
Love is an angel, and sent of God. 



ROSES FOR MABEL. 



TO ONE IN THE NORTH. 

IF overhead our skies are blue, 
And springlike is the air, 
I think — I know — I scarcely knew 
How lovely all things were. 

The buds are swelling on the trees. 

The cherry and the haw ; 
Virginia warms our slightest breeze ; — 

All this I hardly saw. 

And you, my dear, are wrapped in furs, 
And hear the sleigh-bells ring ; 

The breeze that in the hemlock stirs 
Has httle hint of spring. 

Snow on the ground ; ice on the lake ; 

Jack Frost rules all about. 
And roses on your cheeks will make, 

Each time you venture out. 



TO ONE IN THE NORTH. 21 

And oh, how strange are Fate's strange ways ! 

A breeze from that stern clime 
Makes merriment from dismal days, 

And sets my life to rhyme. 

So beautiful the world seems now ! 

And yet, there is no change. 
But who need ask the why or how, 

Though it be passing strange ? 

The clouds are fleecier in the blue, 

And in my heart there 's June ; 
Ah, Love, two little words from you 

Have put all things in tune. 

Old Point Comfort, 
February, iSgi. 



f 

/ 

/ 



/ 



22 RO§'es for MABEL. 



/ 
/ 



/ LOVE SAW THE LIKENESS. 

/ 
v/TRANGE chance resemblance ! Far away 

V) from her, 

/' I find her portrait in this pubUc place — 

/ The golden hair, the sweet lines of her face, 

The blue eyes which have made my pulses stir. 

And yet, my heart begins to make demur : 

Something too stern about the brow I trace, 

And if the figure has her lissome grace, 

The hps are not as smiling as they were. 

Ah no, my heart ! Because my every thought 
Turns home to her, she greets me on all sides. 
But who, then, bears her this strange like- 
ness? Ah, 
How in like mould are good and evil wrought ! — 
Clenched in the small, firm hand the skirt half 
hides. 
Behold the knife wherewith was slain Marat ! 



MY PLAYFUL PUSS. 23 



MY PLAYFUL PUSS. 



''''My love she is a kitten. 

And my heart 's a ball of string.^ 



AH, how those solemn churls 
\yho fancy strait-laced girls, 
Would stare — the noodles ! — 
To see her frisk about, 
And laugh and smile and pout, 
And plague the poodles. 

And yet those dancing eyes 
Have known swift tears to rise, 

Though no repining 
Can make her joy to flee 
So far she cannot see 

The "silver lining." 

But when her heart is light. 
And all the world seems bright, 
She 's full of laughter ; 



24 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

And, much admiring, I 
Stand dutifully by, 
Or follow after. 

. She fathoms everything, — 
My heart 's a ball of string, 

And she 's a kitten ; 
But oh, I could not live, 
If she should ever give 
Poor me the mitten. 

Yet, though to mirth inclined, 
She 's good ; her heart is kind. 

And unto others 
The darling is not slow 
Her sympathy to show : 

She loves her "brothers." 

She trips the stairs adown, 
Robed in her dainty gown 

Of blue-trimmed garnet ; 
There ! she has caught her dress 
And torn it : what a mess ! 

She '11 have to darn it. 

My puss, I pray you, be 
More grave ; come, trust to me 
Your heart for shelter ; 



MY PLAYFUL PUSS. 

You 've mirth enough to spare : 
May I not with you share, 
Dear Helter-Skelter ? 

Only one word, — take heed : 
Let your heart never need 

Its love to label ; 
Leave show upon the shelf; 
Be just your own sweet self, 

My darling Mabel ! 



26 ■ ROSES FOR MABEL. 



LOST-LAND. 

WHERE do the little maid's playthings go?- 
Childish treasures dear to her heart, 
Dropped and forgotten, unfound, and so 

Making, perhaps, the big tears start. 
She looks at me from her wistful eyes 

With faith as deep as they are blue ; 
"They must be gone to Lost-Land," she sighs ; 
"Sometime I '11 find 'em, I dess : don't you?" 

Where do our happinesses go ? — 

Love and pity and faith God-willed, 
The tender words that have moved us so, 

Joys departed and fond hopes chilled. 
Tears that were shed for us, smiles that shone, 

All the sweetest things that we knew, — 
They have gone from us, somehow, surely gone : 

I wonder are they in Lost- Land, too? 



LOST- LAND. 27 

Dear little maid, if the faith I see 

In your sweet blue eyes, in your sweet blue eyes, 
Might only dwell in my heart with me, 

I think that these clouds of care would rise ; 
If old joys wait, and old love endures. 

In the Lost- Land shadows whither they fare, 
I will trust my hand, little maid, to yours : 

We will go together and seek them there. 



28 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



THE NEW CUPID. 

THE days are gone when some sweet rhyme 
Sufficed to win a maiden ; 
We live not in that olden time 

Which with romance was laden. 
Poor literature ! For all its pearls 

No least demand arises ; 
There's nought can catch the pretty girls 
Now, like athletic prizes ! 

Here 's Bertie — she whose tender eyes 

I 've been in verse exalting ; 
Tom let her choose and keep a prize 

He won at Yale — for vaulting ! 
And so she keeps my verses in 

Some dusty drawer or corner, 
While at her throat she wears a pin — 

Tom's medal — to adorn her ! 



THE NEW CUPID. 29 

And Mabel? When she made "her quilt" 

(O aunts, you 've spoiled your nieces !), 
She kept us fellows all atilt 

In skirmishing for "pieces." 
The quilt has, now, one tie of nine 

She begged me to present her, 
While Jim's "prize badges" were so fine 

They all went in the center. 

And thus it is. We 've no redress ; 

These athlete chaps will carry 
Our girls all off. Now, I love Jess, 

But Jess — she worships Harry. 
Well, what can we expect, poor bards ? 

Why, Harry 's some attraction — 
His record for the "hundred yards" : 

Ten seconds and a fraction ! 



30 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



PARTNERS. 

CHANCE made us partners for the hour, 
And if I played a wretched game, 
It was because I lost my power 

When back to me the old days came — 
When hfe and love were both in flower. 

Partners we were in those dear days, 
Though now it might seem past belief; 

And then we played, as Youth still plays, 
The old opponents, Love and Grief — 

Love that illumines. Grief that slays. 

Strange partners? Na)', they are akin; 

You find them ever side by side ; 
Man seeks the gentler one to win. 

But never separate do they bide ; 
Grief follows where Love enters in. 

And are they fallible, these two? 

Sometimes they seem to fail and lose ; 



PARTNERS. 31 

We led them a stern chase, 't is true ; 

But was it, then, a clever ruse, 
Which our dim vision saw not through ? 

Dear gentle maiden, in your eyes 
I looked once more this afternoon ; 

There were my fairest, bluest skies — 
There was my soul's delightful June ; 

And nov/, what makes the swift tears rise ? 

This is the outcome of the game : 
Love passed away and Grief delays. 

The first, it seems, we knew by name, 
The second by his grievous ways ; 

And after all, whom shall we blame ? 

Not Love, for Love was more than kind ; 

Love made us better than we were ; 
Not Grief, for Grief could never bind 

My heart to turn away from her, — 
I still am hers, in heart and mind. 

What was it, then, that killed the rose ? 

What made me less to her, as now? 
Be patient, heart of mine ; she chose : 

I will not ask the why and how ; 
I will believe it, dear, — God knows. 



2,2 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



LOVE FORSAKEN. 
(a rondel, aiter dobson.) 

CUPID, stands with his heart a-s\velling, — 
Quiver empt)', and bow unstrung ; 
Forth from his eyes the big tears are welling ; 
The love-song dies on his lips, unsung. 

Into his soul a sweet hope had sprung ; 
Now, of its death, his sorrow is telling : 
Cupid stands with his heart a-svvelling, — 

Quiver empty, and bow unstrung. 

His rosy lip trembles, his tender heart 's wrung ; 

Forth he comes from his old-time dwelling ; 
For some one other aside he is flung. 
And now that he finds to a vain hope he clung, 

Cupid stands with his heart a-swelling, — 
Quiver empty, and bow unstrung. 



OCTOBER. 33 



OCTOBER. 

ACCORDING well with my despondent mood, 
Thou comest, mourner of the summer slain, 
Bringing us cheerless days of clouds and rain, 
And winds that sigh as if in grief subdued ; 
Birdless is every forest solitude ; 

Stubble replaces fields of golden grain ; 
And in my heart joy is replaced by pain. — 
Sad month, we have a common brotherhood. 

The days grow short ; the nights are cold and still ; 

Earlier in the house the lamps are lit ; 
Frosts nip the tender plants ; on Leicester hill. 

Where late we watched the sunset, bats now flit ; 
Yet thou, drear month, art not so sad and chill 

As this my heart whose hope has gone from it. 



34 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



RECOMPENSE. 

ALAS for the loves of our boyhood — how soon 
Their silver bells jangle and clash out of tune ! 
They may teach us the deepest of passions, and yet, 
Hov/ quickly the dearest of girls can forget ! 

She was fair, she had tender and beautiful eyes ; 
I loved her. Why not ? Can we always be wise ? 
Her conquest was easy ; I worshiped her then 
As I knew that I never should worship again. 

I lived in her smiles, till the time came to part ; 
(I wonder if ever she cared, in her heart?) 
Then I lived on the past, till I could not deny 
That her friendship had ceased when she bade me 
good-bye. 

It is past : v/e can never that friendship renew ; 
I still have her picture, a keepsake or two, 



RECOMPENSE. 35 

Which I cherish, as all that is left me, forsooth, 
From the wreck of the beautiful dream of my youth. 

Today I have seen her ! She came down the street, 
Who once might have trampled my heart 'neath her 

feet. 
She is changed, yet I saw but the sweet, tender girl 
Who years ago set my young heart in a whirl. 

I thought of the day when she bade me good-bye. 
And smiled as I caught myself stifling a sigh ; 
Then she passed, and she saw me : I ought not to 

care. 
But I own I was hurt by her merciless stare. 

Ah well, she "forgets" ; I had fancied she would ; 
I hope she is happy — I 'm sure she is good ; 
Come, Pet, it was she broke my heart, it is true ; 
But I think you have mended it nicely : don't you ? 



36 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



EBB TIDE. 

THINKING of thee, my lost one, far away, 
I watch the ebb tide creeping down the 
strand ; 
The Uttle boats come slowly in to land ; 
The slanting sun announces close of day ; 
The sails grow dusky, far out on the bay ; 
And still the placid sea, so near at hand, 
Creeps outward, murmuring across the sand, 
And seeming life's great mystery to portray. 

For life creeps slowly down the years, as here 
The sea recedes. The pleasurers return, 

Happy and wearied, from their voyage at sea ; 
And I, perchance, shall find my vision clear, 
When the last rays of my own sunset burn, 
And I shall go yet farther, dear, from thee. 

Nantasket Beach, 
"July, i8go. 



O MA REINE ! 37 



O MA REINE! 

FROM a heart that has learned what it is to be 
broken, 
In the world's unrelenting and pitiless school, 
With the thought that lies deepest remaining un- 
spoken, 
I send you the greetings and blessings of Yule. 
And oh ! if your own heart no longer discloses 

Regard for the sacred and beautiful past. 
While mine wears its sackcloth and ashes of roses, 
I pray you remember I loved to the last, 

Christmas, 1889. 



ROSES FOR MABEL. 



I WILL BE PATIENT. 

^ ^ JPATIENT ? " Have I not long been patient, 
1 dear, 

Hoping against all hope, and holding fast 
To one pure love that on my soul hath cast 

A radiance star-like, lustrous, fixed and clear, 

And made me face all ills, devoid of fear. 

Save for the fear of God ? Have I not passed 
Through months of sorrow, hoping, at the last, 

That through the clouds some sunshine might ap- 
pear ? 

I will be patient yet. But as the hart 

Pants for the waterbrooks, so yearns my soul ; 

Let me but know, while we must bide apart, 
You too are praying soon to reach the goal ; 

Dear, gentle woman ! Sorrow hath no dart 

To strike a wound your love could not make 
whole. 



IN ILLNESS. 39 



IN ILLNESS. 

IT MAY be this is but a passing ill, 
Or it may be the solemn final call 
Which may come soon or late, but comes to all, 
— I bow to the Almighty Father's will. 
Through heart-aches, saddening all my days, I still 
Have kept my faith in him. Death's somber pall 
May shroud me round, but though its shadows fall 
Across my life, my soul they cannot fill. 

One word, one last regret, to that dear one 

Whom I have loved : 77^1? half she never knew. 
God gave, he well may claim, my fitful breath ; 
His mercy will not fail. When life is done, 

Though this poor frame be prey to frost and dew, 
I shall have solved the mystery called Death. 



40 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



THE MATCHLESS. 

UNTO the sky, one star, 
Round which the myriads roll, 
Clear shining from afar, 
True to the pole. 

Unto the field, one flower. 
The fairest Nature knows. 

Emblem of kingly power — 
The royal rose. 

Unto the sea, one pearl, 

Hid in some cave unknown. 

Where long sea-grasses curl 
About its throne. 

Unto my soul, one love — 
God's light upon my brow, 

Descending from above ; 
And that love — Thou. 



TO SLEEP. 41 



TO SLEEP. 

AFTER all the pleadings, all the prayers and 
tears, 
After humble penitence, and a hope to be 
Nobler, better, braver, through the coming years. 
What but vain repinings now are left to me ? 
Was my sin so grievous that I may not see 
Any hope of finding from my grief release? 

Come, O Sleep, and take me, take me back to 
thee ; 
Bear me back to Dreamland, where alone is peace. 



42 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



MABEL'S HANDKERCHIEF. 

HOW WILL death come to me? I sometimes 
ask; 
And in what spot will be prepared my grave ? 
I may find rest beneath the ocean's wave, 
Or it may be when busy at my task 
That I shall see stern Death remove his mask ; 
But I — I have no trembling fears to brave ; 
Why should I care these bitter drops to save, 
That flow so slowly from life's brittle flask? 

But when some friendly hand shall seek my heart. 
To see if it be still, there shall be found 
The token of a love that could not die. 
To speak her name my lips will no more part. 
And nought will then avail to heal my wound ; 
But she will know none worshiped her as I. 



WAITING. 43 



WAITING. 

(a roundel.) 

I SHALL be waiting, dear, in that glad day 
When you will come and say : " Love, I am 
here." 
It may be soon, or years be passed away ; — 
I shall be waiting, dear. 

So that I keep your love, hope shineth clear ; 
Loving and longing, learning how to pray, 
I wait until the blest day shall draw near. 

When I may turn to you once more, and say : 
"My Mabel," all our griefs shall disappear ; 
Ah, forget not, — let life bring what it may — 
I shall be waiting, dear. 



44 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



BELOVED. 

^^OELOVED!" Let me write the old-time 
D word, 

Which once you prized, and called me to repeat ; 

Time has been cruel, but he cannot cheat 
Our ears of all the loving vows they heard 
When by a common thought our hearts were stirred ; 

My lips can frame no word to be more sweet ; 

And if I suffer failure and defeat, 
Love still lives on, though hope be long deferred. 

I do not know when we shall meet again. 
Nor what will be my welcome in that hour ; 

I know I love you now, dear, more than then, 
Just as the bud bursts open into flower ; 

And I shall speak the dear old word, and when 
You answer, oh, remember all your power ! 

Potomac River, 
February, i8gz. 



A VISION. 45 



A VISION. 

SHADOW from out the beautiful past, 
Why do you come to me, in my gloom ? 
Your great sad eyes make my heart beat fast ; 

You still are sweet as a rose in bloom ; 
You still are tender and grav'e and kind, — 

And how can you know an old wound's smart ?- 
How sadly comes the truth to my mind, 
I have your presence : he has your heart, 

Hopes and dreams of mine, good and pure, 

Have lost the sunlight and felt the rain ; 
Futures whose promises seemed so sure. 

Were only castles builded in Spain. 
Do you wonder, then, that, coming near. 

My words should falter and quick tears start ? 
Or that I think, when meeting you, dear, 

I have your presence : he has your heart? 



46 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

Did Love deceive you, in the old days? 

Were you wrong to think you loved me then? 
I wish I knew all Love's secret ways : 

I would try to set you wrong again. 
No, not that, dear, if you love him more, 

Though my life loses its better part ; 
I can pray : God bless you ! as before, 

But oh, I would that I had your heart ! 



PLYMOUTH CHIMES. 47 



PLYMOUTH CHIMES. 

AT FIVE o'clock, each afternoon, 
I go my homeward way, . 
And as I climb up Chestnut Hill, 
From the great stone church, so dark and still. 

The chimes begin to play ; 
And little matters it what tune. 
They ring, now loud, now tenderly, 

In sweet, melodious babel. 
But all it seems to say to me 

Is : Mabel— Mabel— Mabel— 

I know she waits, intent to hear 

My step within the gate ; 
She notes the hour : it 's almost time. 
And as she hears the distant chime, 

She wonders if I 'm late. 
And every sound that strikes her ear 



ROSES FOR MABEL. 

Makes her to give a little start, 
While all the time she 's humming 

Some tune whose music to her heart 
Says : Comitig — coming — coming — 

I turn the corner, and at last 

Am at my own home door ; 
She meets me, and within her eyes 
Shines the fond welcome that I prize ; 

So Love is glad once more. 
The toils, the worries, all are past ; 
My heart leaps up, and on my cheek 

Her welcome kiss is proving 
All that her lips could find to speak 

Of : Loving — loving — loving — 

How sweet ye rang, O Plymouth Chimes, 

On that day long ago ! 
Why did I weep to hear you play, 
When up the hill I walked, today, 

So falteringly and slow? 
You bore me back to other times ; 
And did you see the sad tears start, 

And hear her dear name spoken? — 
That all you murmured to my heart 

Was : Broken — broken — broken — 



PLYMOUTH CHIMES. 49 

By walks where we were used to go, 

And even to the door, 
I pass ; but she on other things 
Is bent ; no smile my coming brings, 

As in the days before. 
My footstep now she would not know ; 
And all ! far off I hear the bells, 

Whose theme seems now of mourning, 
And of her feeling only tells 

Of : Scorning — scorning — scorning — 

O bells, you jangle ! Cease your chime : 

The parting hour is near ; 
My heart in ashes mourns today, 
Since I forever go away 

From her, to me so dear. 
Oh, whisper to her of that time 
When we were happy, and since now 

My lips may not caress her. 
Oh, tell her of my loving vow. 

And pray : God bless her — bless her — 



50 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



THANKSGIVING DAY. 

LET others be thankful, and join in rejoicing ; 
My own heart is sad, and my skies are grown 
gray; 
My greeting is gay, but the words are not voicing 

The sadness that fills me this Thanksgiving Day. 

Oh, what are the feasting, the rout and the pleasure ? 

Though Fame has been kind to me, what can she 

do 

To make me forget that I lost my one treasure? — 

Oh, what is Thanksgiving Day, dear, without you ? 



IF DREAiMS WERE ONLY DREAMS, 5 1 



IF DREAMS WERE ONLY DREAMS. 

EVEN in sleep your face still looks on me, 
O my beloved ! and behold, last night 
An old familiar place came to my sight, 
And dear old friends, whose hearts of care were free. 
Who said : " What ! still unchanged ? How can 
it be? 
Look at her — never heart was half so light ; 
She has forgotten you." 

Ah, they were right ; 
Dreams are realities, sometimes, you see. 

So I awoke, and found my lashes wet. 

My eyes abrim with sorrowful great tears ; 

I marked my hand, within the moon's broad 
gleam, 
Trembling with anguish, while my lips, firm set, 
Kept back the vain wish from unheeding ears : 
Oh, if my dream were nothing but a dream ! 



52 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



POPPIES. 

SOFT wreaths of smoke float slowly into air ; 
My tear-stained eyelids close, heavy with 
sleep, 
Forgetting, for a little, how to weep ; 
Drowsiness comes, an angel miaware. 
Then visions of green fields and waters fair. 

And picture- clouds that through the azure sweep ; 
Sorrow is vanquished, and dreams soft and deep 
Come to dispel my dark thoughts of despair. 

Alas for waking ! Why must slumber cease ? 

Sleep, blessed Sleep, be merciful and kind ; 
Send me not back to grief that must increase : 

Burn out Woe's great sad eyes, and make him 

blind 

My dear Love bade me go and seek for peace : 

And this is peace. How sad a peace to find ! 



PERIWINKLE. 53 



PERIWINKLE. 

FLOWERS of the Maytime, 
Blooming by the wall, 
Stars of Summer's daytime, 

Twinkling at her call, 
In the fragrant morning, 

Down the garden close, 

I have sought you, scorning 

E 'en the Jacqueminots. 

Slender-stemmed, up-gazing 

From the glossy green, 
Toward the blue up-raising 

Heads in royal mien. 
You are welcome comers, 

Harbingers of June, 
Whispering that Summer 's 

Sure to greet us soon. 



54 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

Spring has brought you hither 

In her diadem ; 
Sad that you must wither, 

Severed from the stem ; 
Birds are making babel 

In the leafy shade ; 
You should go to Mabel, 

If you would not fade. 

Blossom in seclusion, 

In the garden old ; 
Birds may make intrusion, 

And the robins scold. 
When a boy, I learned you, 

And your pretty name ; 
Though the gardener spurned you, 

I upheld your fame. 

Still I find you smiling 

In your wonted place ; 
Still my feet beguiling 

Here to rest a space ; 
Like the stars, you twinkle. 

In the blooming-time ; 
Pretty Periwinkle, 

Blossom in my rhyme. 



A RHYME AND A BOOK FOR MABEL. 55 



A RHYME AND A BOOK FOR MABEL. 

THE sailor from far lands 
Brings silks and jewels home ; 
The soldier, from the strife, 

Trophies of victories ; 
Neither brings empty hands. 

And shall I idly roam. 
Finding no gift to please 

One who makes glad my life ? — 
From his brief flight awing. 
What shall your poet bring? 

What, but some tender verse. 
Some draught from the deep cup 

Where glistens Love's sweet wine ? 
It need not be my own. 

So that the song rehearse 
The wishes welling up 



56 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

In my heart, that have flown 

To cheer you, Sweetheart mine ! 
One thing the book can do — 
Witness I thought of you. 

Great Head, Winthrop, 
9 August, iSgi. 



AT THE CONCERT. 57 



AT THE CONCERT. 

WE SAT and heard the Master play 
Sweetly upon his violin, 
And knew the music, grave or gay, 

Came from a throbbing heart within ; 
We heard a v/hiskered " Signor" sing ; 

We heard "Monsieur" thump on the keys. 
And from the poor piano wring 
The most heart-rending harmonies. 

Then came a creature dressed in pink, 

Wasp-waisted, with a voice in E. 
The program said she sang, I think ; 

I know I heard : ^^ Do, mi, sol, mi" 
I could not write a long critique, 

But I should say this seraph frail 
Seemed to be playing hide-and-seek 

Along the diatonic scale. 



58 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

But Mabel, at my left, spoke low 

(She understands that sort of thing) : 
"She 's lovely ! don't you call her so? 

And don't you like to hear her sing?" 
"My dear," I sighed, "she suits your taste? 

^Vell, as to music, I 'm a dunce, 
But my thought was : I like a waist 

'Round which an arm will go but once ! " 



love's query. 59 



LOVE'S QUERY. 

WHxAlT makes my heart go pit-a-pat, 
When Mabel's eyes look into mine ? 
Why do I find it hard to chat 

And to cold words my thoughts confine ? 

Perhaps because her charms divine 
I may not hope to win. Is that 
What makes my heart go pit-a-pat, 

When Mabel's eyes look into mine ? 

Ah, is it aught to wonder at — 

That I should wish her love were mine ? 
Now that you know I dream of that, 

Can you not read the tell-tale sign? 
What makes my heart go pit-a-pat. 

When Mabel's eyes look into mine ? 



6o ROSES FOR MABEL. 



I 



WHEN MY SHIP COMES IN. 

MABEL dearest, seek your hand 
, And heart, at Cupid's sweet command, 
And fondly pray your eyes of blue 
To smile upon me, when I woo 
And whisper of "■ la passion grandeJ" 

How now? "Have I," you ask, "the 'sand' 
'Gainst Life's rude bufietings to stand 
And guard you, ever brave and true ? " 
— Aye, Mabel dear ! 

"And may you drive your four-in-hand? 
And spend the 'season' at the strand? 
And on 'old masters' feast your view?" 
Aye ! all will I bestow on you, 
All — when, of course you understand, 
I 'ni able, dear ! 
iS86. 



A VALENTINE TO MY LOVE AT VASSAR. 6 1 



A VALENTINE TO 1\IY LOVE AT VASSAR. 

SAINT VALENTINE, 't was this thy day 
On which, of old, the legends say. 
The birds were wont to mate and woo ; 
And we have kept the custom, too. 

My love and I are leagues apart. 
Yet well she knows she has my heart ; 
And she has promised to be mine — 
My well-beloved Valentine. 

I see her, sitting all alone. — 
In growing wise, how fair she 's grown ! — 
One hand supports her damask cheek : 
She 's poring o'er tomorrow's Greek. 

Ah me, if I might sit, tonight. 
There in her study, warm and bright, 
And, throwing off my cares the while, 
Bask in the sunshine of her smile ! 



62 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

Alas, no sweet face lights the gloom 
Here in my cheerless, lonely room ; 
But I am faithful at her shrine, 
And send to her a valentine. 

I see her take it in her hands ; 
She bursts the wrappings and the bands ; 
And then her cheek begins to glow, 
And little dimples come and go. 

My Valentine, I chose thee well ; 
What else could thus her smiles compel ? 
She calls her friends ; straightway appears 
A flock of lovely, envious dears. 

A chorus of delighted "Oh !'s" 
Bursts forth, and well my lady knows 
That she is queen since this has come — 
My ten-pound box of choice new gum ! 



BALLADE OF A PLEASANT RECOLLECTION. 63 



BALLADE OF A PLEASANT 
RECOLLECTION. 

WHEN moved by some fair maid's decree, 
Who could refuse a rhyme to write? 
Not I, for one ! and when the plea 
Is made by one whose eyes are bright 
As yours, the wish I dare not slight ; 
But as for themes, I find none handy. 

Yet stay ! do you recall that night 
When we gay friends made "'lasses" candy? 

Do you remember it, ni'amie? — 
How Bert and I t^e nuts did smite ? 

And how I held upon my knee 

Something I thought — not — very — light? — 
The jesting words that we, despite 

Our dignity, found time to bandy ? — 
Ah me, how swift the hours took flight, 

When we gay friends made "'lasses" candy ! 



64 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

I wonder if this memory 

Which brings to me such keen dehght, 
Will, in your heart and Mabel's, be 

Remembered as perhaps it might 

If it had been some fairer knight — 
Not one with locks as rough and "sandy" 

As mine, you 'd chosen to invite, 
When we gay friends made "'lasses" candy. 

Envoy. 

Maude, to find favor in your sight 

Your poet prays : at your command, he 

Has made this rhyme about that night 

When we gay friends made "'lasses" candy. 



OFF THE STAGE. 65 



OFF THE STAGE. 

PROUDLY I take her down the hall ; 
I know she draws the glance of all, 
And it is rated 
A boon to win her smile's cold charm. 
Blanche rests on mine her snowy arm, — 
And I 'm elated ! 

Beth paints me pretty little things ; 

She thrums for me her banjo's strings, — 

And not so badly ; 
She 's bright, and when she bids me : "Come 
And see me — Thursda}'s I 'm at home," 

I go most gladly. 

And Maude ? At church, it 's very true, 
I 've helped to fill the Van Dorn pew 
Many a Sunday ; 



66 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

They ask me in ; and they 've a sight 
Of wealth, you see, — that sets me right 
With Mrs. Grundy. 

But when beneath a midnight moon 
I ride, who hears with me the tune 

Of the sweet sleighbells ? 
Blanche? Beth? Not they ! And Maude? Not hers 
The hand I press, beneath the furs, 

For that is Mabel's/ 

1888. 



THE MINSTREL AFIELD. 

Harps (ire in every land 

That await a voice that sings, 
And a master-hand, — tmt the humblest hand 

May gently touch the slr'ings. 

Fathek Ryan : Sentinel Songs. 



Christ's church. 71 



CHRIST'S CHURCH. 

WHAT matters it, my neighbor, 
That we be not agreed ? 
The Master counts the labor 

And love, more than the creed. 
And if, God's word obeying. 

Each one his own Avay choose. 
He still will hear us praying, 
Whatever form we use. 

Though we may sing his praises 

In the Te Deum's strains. 
The hymn our brother raises 

As kind a hearing gains ; 
And under lofty arches. 

Or on the naked sod, 
'T is one procession marches 

Up to the throne of God. 



72 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

For you may find the leaven 

Where I should never search, 
Without my guide to Heaven — 

Our Holy Mother Church. 
Men, drawing from each other, 

Their temples build apart ; 
What profits it, my brother? 

Christ's church is in the heart. 
All Saints, 1890. 



JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY. 73 



JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY. 

(died 10 AUGUST, 1890.) 

WHILE the calm sea crept up and whispered 
to him,— 
Ere broke the day, — 
Without a word to those who loved and knew him, — 
He passed away. 

Just as his life its noblest height seemed crowning, 

In manhood's prime. 
Gone all the trials, banished Fortune's frowning, 

God said : '"T is time." 

Oh, how shall we, then, seek to understand it? 

It seems so strange ; 
His work was waiting, ready, as he planned it, 

And then this change. 

On that last night I slept almost beside him, 

And at the dawn 
I found that Death had come, from earth to guide 
him. 

And he was gone. 



74 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

Gone ! gone ! O sobs we know not how to smother, 

O tears that flow, 
We loved him ! Poet, friend and tender brother, — 

Why should he go? 

How sweet the music that had never failed him, 

How rich his store ! 
How fittingly and fondly had we hailed him : 

Our own Tom Moore ! 

O soul of love, O knightly heart and loyal, 

Death is not thine : 
Forever with the noble and the royal 

Thy name will shine. 

In the great city to which dear ties bound him, 

But yesterday, 
With the grand hosts of Freedom marching 'round 
him. 

Silent he lay. 

He too had thought to see that mighty number 

Of warriors grim ; 
He did not know that only peaceful slumber 

Was meant for him. 



JOHN BOYLE O'rEILLY. 75 

O Freedom, as thy heroes, in their splendor, 

March by thee, here, 
Think of thy son, so loving, loyal, tender, — 

Spare him a tear. 

We find some cheer our heavy grief to leaven. 

Some joy to win ; 
We know that at the great white gate of Heaven 

He enters in. 

He needs no tolling bell in any steeple. 

No requiem mass ; 
From out the great affection of the people 

He may not pass. 

We bring our tears : what more, now, can we proffer ? 

Behind his hearse 
Humbly I walk, with all I have to offer — 

This love-born verse. 

Thank God, we know, while grief our hearts is 
wringing, 

And all seems wrong, 
Our sweet musician even now is singing 

A grand new song. 



76 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



BEAU BRUMMELL. 

TO RICHARD MANSFIELD. 

WELL pictured, Mansfield ! Yours is earned 
applause ; 
Your voice and look have quickened the dead 

past; 
And apt indeed this glance on History cast. 
Brummell is dead, but Nature, to her laws 
Faithful as ever, still repeats, and draws 

Such likenesses of men. Ah, Time flies fast : 
Poor Beau ! — a playwright's dummy at the last, — 
The Prince of Fashion stripped of all his gauze. 

Yet it is not all satire ; honest tears, 

At such a portraiture as this, must start. — 

A man's life may be tinsel, but he hears, 

Sometimes, the soul's voice, and forgets his art ; 

Kisses may live on lips long used to sneers ; 
And sometimes 'neath lace ruffles hides a heart. 

Washington, 

10 February, iSgi. 



SENATOR HOAR. 77 



SENATOR HOAR. 

JUST as Charles Sumner stood, within these walls, 
A living protest in the face of wrong, 
That grand, calm figure in the turbulent throng, — 
So, here, the voice of his apt pupil falls 
In words befitting these historic halls ; 

And like a David, with his stone and thong, 
I see him turn his face, so fine, so strong, 
Ever to front the foe, when duty calls. 

Treason may hiss, and hate must have its sneer, 
But in the nation's grand historic tome 

Our children's children, in some distant year, 
Will read of him, and make their hearts his home, 

While Freedom sends his name, to her grown dear, 
Echoing forever 'round her matchless dome. 

In the Senate Chamber at Washington, 
January, iSqi. 



7 8 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



FATHER McGLYNN. 

(after a meeting with him, 13 MAY, 1 889.) 

I HEARD the gentle voice, whose speech 
Was simple, earnest, like the man, 
And thought how far beyond his reach 

Lay the attainment of his plan ; 
Yet, as his cordial hand clasped mine, 

In the swift kindling of his eye 
I seemed to see his purpose shine — 
A purpose noble, pure and high. 

Ah, let us who have doubted see 

Our own good deeds recalled, and then 
Ask if we ever gave what he 

Has given for his fellow-men. 
Laurels made ready for his head — 

Friends — fortune — power strong and sure — 
"If these I must renounce," he said, 

"I do it gladly, for God's poor." 



FATHER Mc GLYNN. 79 

O noble-minded, pure-souled priest, 

Would there were more hearts like thine own ; 
God will not count such with the least, 

When we are met about His throne. 
Thy self-appointed work well done. 

Scorn never can its luster dim. 
What though the Church disclaim her son ? 

Freedom an altar hath for him ! 



So ROSES FOR MABEL. 



THE PROUDEST NAME, 

TO MARY HOV/E. 

O SWEET young songstress of the North, 
Thy native hills have heard 
No song so pure, so sweet, burst forth 

From any native bird. 
It breathes the music of the rills 

That in thy mountains purl, 
To welcome to her native hills 
A sweet New England girl. 

Far over sea they spoke her praise 

In a strange foreign tongue ; 
She came and charmed us with her ways. 

And loud our plaudits rung ; 
Yet still she kept, with all her fame. 

That set two lands awhirl, 
The simple manner that became 

A sweet New England girl. 



THE PROUDEST NAME. 8 1 

She leaves again her native shore ; 

Be calm, ye seas that foam ! 
And when she comes, our hearts once more 

Will bid her welcome home. 
And if she win, across the sea, 

The praise of lord and earl, 
Let her remember still to be 

A sweet New England girl. 

What stranger ever came and stirred 

Our hearts as she has done ? 
What Old World singer ever heard 

Such plaudits as she won ? 
Europe may search through cot and hall. 

And bring her rarest pearl, 
But she is what is more than all — 

A sweet New England girl. 
i8S8. 



ROSES FOR MABEL. 



GROWING. 

FOUR blithe summers, and four years' snows 
Have passed her by. How the little maid 
grows ! — 
Grows in winsomeness, grows more wise, — 
Looks more roguishly out of those eyes, — 
Finds such wonderful things each day, — 
Gets so happily tired at play, — 
Has her tears, till the clouds are past. — 
Ah, but the httle maid 's grovv-ing fast ! 

WTiat does she think? Oh, she wonders why 
The stars that twinkle are hung so high ; 
What makes a little girl smile in the glass ; 
Why so seldom the elephants pass ; 
WTiy her kitten should chase its tail ; 
Why the boat has a big white sail ; — 
These, and things we 've never found out, 
Are what the Uttle maid 's thinkins: about. 



GROWING. 8^ 

INIargaret ! ^.largaret ! "keep that smile ; 
You '11 be old in a little while ; 
Keep that laughter, and that sweet air ; 
Keep that little heart free from care ; 
Some day you '11 be tired of the toys ; 
Some day you '11 seek for growTi-up joys ; 
Then you '11 have no treasures like these ; 
Keep them forever, so God please. 

Down she goes, in the little white bed ; 
Love shall watch at the foot and the head ; 
When she comes back from Dreamland far, 
She '11 be bright as the morning-star. 
I shall pray, when she 's older yet. 
Childhood's friends she may not forget. 
Margaret, we '11 let the years go by : 
Think, you 're a whole day older than I ! 
1891. 



84 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



MY DEAD FRIEND. 

(F. S. M., OBIIT 31 MARCH, 1 888.) 

THE clouds that veiled the sky in shadows dim 
Are gone at last ; 
Into the peace withheld so long from him, 
His soul has passed. 

It was not willed that he should find on earth 

Much happiness ; 
His time of strength was small ; his meed of mirth 

Was even less. 

Tasks light for others were to him not so ; 

He lacked the strength 
To do his will : the books he longed to know 

Were closed at length. 

The weary brain that study vexed too long 

Had done its best ; 
The shattered frame that never had been strong 

Pleaded for rest. 



MY DEAD FRIEND. 85 

The hearty sports that brought the flush of health 

To other boys, 
He never knew ; Death, drawing near by stealth, 

Took all his joys. 

One solace only had he in his gloom — 

His violin ; 
And as he played, alone, in the dark room, 

The light broke in. 

He was not one to murmur : to his pain 

He seemed resigned ; 
Forever kind, while life was on the wane, 

He grew more kind. 

Stilled is the heart that was so generous, — 

Its sufiering o'er ; 
The lips that spoke but gentle words to us 

Will move no more. 

Silent his well-loved violin : the strings 

Henceforth are dumb ; 
Idle his bow, — no m.ore to it he clings ; 

His call has come. 

Tears blind our eyes ; we miss him from the path 

He with us trod ; 
And yet, we know that joy at last he hath, — 

He is with God. 



86 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



A PLEASANT RECEPTION. 

I STAND before the open grate, 
And wonder much, the while I wait, 
She doesn't come and greet me ; 
She knew I was to come today. 
And why, then, should she be away, 
Instead of here to meet me? 

We are disposed, mayhap, to take 

For granted that our friends should make 

Our own desires their pleasure ; 
But still, she 's always, heretofore, 
Been here to meet me at the door. 

Where is she now — the treasure? 

Ah, she is coming down the stairs ; 
Perhaps I '11 catch her unawares ; 

But no : she comes — she sees me ! 



A PLEASANT RECEPTION. 

O golden hair ! O sweet blue eyes ! 
How much do I your owner prize, 
Although she does so tease me ! 

She laughs a merry laugh, and then 
(Am I not favored man of men ?) 

She kisses me so sweetly. 
Her arms go 'round my neck, and she 
Tells why she was so late : her plea 

Explains it most completely. 

She takes my coat and gloves and hat ; 
She sits me down, begins to chat, 

And — asks me what I 've brought her ! 
What 's that? "Who is it dares act so? 
My fiancee ?" you ask ? Oh no, — 

My darling little daughter ! 
18S7. 



ROSES FOR MABEL. 



THANKSGIVING. 

WELCOME again, Thanksgiving, 
With winds however cold ! 
The spirit still is living 

That stirred our sires of old ; 
And ever we remember 

Your blessing and your cheer, 
For you have made November 
To all New England dear. 

Let Winter fiercely brandish 

His weapons as he will ; 
True sons of old Miles Standish, 

We meet him bravely still ; 
And though his glove he flings us, 

In challenge for the fray, 
God bless him, since he brings us 

Our own Thanksgiving Day. 



THANKSGIVING. 89 

What heart can find inviting 

Anger or enmity ? 
Today we are uniting 

Around the family tree. 
Let Hatred go and bury 

His harsh and evil creed, 
And we will make a merry 

Thanksgiving Day indeed. 

And let the poor be sharers 

In all our festal mirth, 
That we may be the bearers 

Of Christ's goodwill on earth ; 
Set the good cheer aflowing, 

And Gloom may hide away, 
Since every heart is knowing 

This is Thanksgiving Day. 
1S90. 



90 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



THE MARCH OF THE HEROES. 

TO MY FATHER. 

OFF with your hats, young men ; 
Heroes are passing by ! 
No trappings of grim war 
They bear, as once they bore, 
But through these streets again 
They march, as once before 
They marched, when going forth, — 
The flower of the North, — 
To conquer or to die. 

Flowers are in their hands. 

Where once was steel, instead. 

To meet no fiery foe, 

Through the calm streets they go ; 

They hear no stern commands, 

But music sad and slow ; 

Not for the living, they 

March by us, here, today, 

But for the noble dead. 



THE MARCH OF THE HEROES. 9 1 

Not stalwart as of old, 
But bent with swift-sped years ; 
Grizzled of beard and hair, 
I see them passing there. 
Sons of such sires, behold ! 
Those wavering ranks declare 
Whence comes your manliness. 
May Heaven the living bless : 
To the dead, grateful tears. 

O sire of mine, well done ! 
Thou marchest in that line, 
Old comrades at thy side. 
When thy wronged country cried. 
Thou wast her worthy son. 
My heart leaps up in pride ; 
Down through long years to be, 
Posterity shall see 
Thy deed in glory shine. 

Under the skies of May, 
They move where lie the lost ; 
Garlands for every grave ; 
Over the silent brave 
Flowers shall smile today. 
And feathery grasses wave. 
Their glory cannot wane 



92 ROSES FOR MABEL, 

Who purchased peace through pain, 
Though love and Ufa it cost. 

Bloom for them, roses rare. 
Unfurl, O flag of light, 
Unto the gentle breeze ; 
Over brave hearts like these 
Thou shinest doubly fair. 
To guard our liberties, 
God make us worthy sons 
Of these enhaloed ones — 
Soldiers of truth and right ! 
30 May, 1S91. 



THAT DEAREST OF DAYS. 93 



THAT DEAREST OF DAYS. 

WE loitered along by the shore of the lake ; 
We watched the birds on the wing ; 
And the drowsy day seemed but half awake, 

So quiet was everything. 
We heard, at times, the plash of an oar 

From some lazily-moving boat. 
And over the lake, near the Shrewsbury shore. 

Saw a fish-hawk hover and float ; 
And all, in the haze of the afternoon, 

And the smile of the summer skies. 
Seemed lulled into dreams as by some sweet tune 

As tender, my dear, as your eyes. 

The soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead ; 

The chipmunks chattered at will ; 
A dry twig snapped 'neath a rabbit's tread : 

All else in the woods was still. 



94 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

We had no need, in the silence, for speech — 

Mere words would have sounded rough ; 
But our eyes told all in the heart of each, 

And that was more than enough. 
I pressed in my hand your finger-tips, 

And your cheeks — what made them to flame ? 
The only language that moved my lips 

Was a murmuring of your name. 

Whenever I think of that dearest of days. 

My heart of a sudden grows weak. 
And the longing light in ray eyes betrays 

What the blush betrayed on your cheek. 
The clouds may darken the skies, and the lake 

Lose the beauty it had that day ; 
The birds their way to the south may take, 

And the woods grow cheerless and gray ; 
But the light of your eyes, and the tender words 

That we spoke, are lingering yet ; 
And though the summer may go with the birds, 

That day we can never forget. 



AFTERWARD. 95 



AFTERWARD. 

WHEN, with some other arm in yours, you go 
Down through the streets we trod that 
happy night, 
Will you recall, with thought however light, 
The one who, by your side, with heart aglow, 
And voice that faltered or at times spoke low. 
Walked on, enraptured with a new delight, 
Scarce knowing if he dreamed, or heard aright, 
And fondly wished it might be ever so ? 

And when, light-hearted still, you pass that way, 
Will you remember that I walk alone, 

Finding no voice to answer mine and say 

All the dear speeches that your hps have known, 

And growing sad, because, from day to day, 
I miss the impulse of that look and tone ! 



96 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



GHOSTS. 

INTO a night of dreams and broken rest 
Come all the evil ghosts of years gone by, 
To look upon me with reproachful eye, 
And tell of deeds wherein I have transgressed. 

Dark secrets hidden long within my breast 
They seem to shout to all the earth and sky. 
And uttering, in my sleep, a frightened cry, 

I wake to find my heart with fear oppressed. 

When wakening comes, fond lips still turn to press 
Their kisses on my cheek, grown white and thin. 

Dear arms still clasp me in a fond caress. 
And love is still as it hath ever been ; 

Yet one stain mars its every tenderness — 
The ghastly phantom of an old-time sin ! 



THE VENTURE- BARK OF HOPE. 97 



THE VENTURE-BARK OF HOPE. 

FURL all her tattered sails, and from the peak 
Take her starred pennant down ; 
No more the distant seas her keel shall seek ; 
No more the storm on her its anger wreak ; 
No more to favoring winds her canvas spread ; 

Let her smooth sides grow brown : 
My hope in her is dead. 

Her single venture has been sailed. In vain 

She sought the far-off land 
Where she might find v/hat I had hoped to gain— 
The magic gem that for my weary pain 

A gentle balm and sweet relief should bring. 

She lies by yonder strand, 
And hope has taken wing. 

Oh, that she might have foundered far away, 

Rather than thus return ! 
Better to sunken shoal or reef a prey 
Than thus in idle quiet to decay. 



90 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

Then might my heart at least have dared to hope ; 

Now it can only yearn 
For light, and, blinded, grope. 

wrecked bark ! I ventured all in thee ; 

And now, with tattered sail. 
And scarred from battling with the angry sea. 
Thou readiest port and answereth to me : 

"Thy dream hath been in vain — an idle quest." 

Oh, that it thus should fail ! . . . 
Can it be for the best? 

My heart hath hidden from all other eyes 

Its silent, bitter grief: 
Dear Father, thou alone hast heard its cries. 
And when, grown weary of its fate, it dies. 

Thou only canst know all that it hath borne, — 

Thou only bring relief. 
And bid it cease to mourn. 

No solace can the present to me bring. 

. One sad, one fond mistake 
Has bhghted hope and love and everything ; 

1 have no longer aught by which to cling ; 

So my heart suffers, in its anguish keen, 

Until it one day break ; 
And then — the Great Unseen ! 



PINE GKOVE SCHOOL. 99 



PINE GROVE SCHOOL. 

FOR M. S. B. 

THE murmuring pines have watched for years 
The comings-in and goings-out, 
And heard, no doubt, as Nature hears, 
The class-room hum or play-time shout. 

Their branches, bending with the snow, 

Have darkened winter afternoons, 
Or, swayed by breezes to and fro. 

Have lent their fragrance to the Junes. 

And through this doorway childish feet 
Have dragged, at many a morning-time. 

When Nature's music seemed most sweet. 
And Wisdom's heights most hard to climb. 

O children of the wayside school ! 

You linger here, in shade and sun, 
Not much perplexed by task or rule ; 

Yet here are battles to be won. 



100 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

On you the state has set her eyes — 
The mother- eyes of love and pride ; 

She waits ; she whispers : "They will rise, 
And take their station by my side ; 

"The sober minds, the willing hearts, 
Lovers of God and Truth and Right, 

Masters of all the honest arts, — 
In them behold my noblest might." 

Go on, then, as the way be shown, 
And weather Life's tempestuous gales, 

And each an honest name make known 
Through all these sweet Lancastrian vales. 

And she who points to you the way — 
Her work its meed of honor brings ; 

Listen : you hear our mother say : 
"My children do no greater things." 

Not to her sages does she look 

To make her foremost of the earth ; 

She gives you slate and spelling-book. 
And says : "Be worthy of )'Our birth." 

Dear Massachusetts ! Let her fill 

A thousand books with laws and rules ; 

Here is her wisest statecraft still : 

God bless her for her common schools ! 

Lancaster, Jtme, i8go. 



GRANDMAMMA. 



GRANDMAMMA. 

TIME long since cracked her feeble voice ; 
Her eyes are now grown dim ; 
Yet, finding reason to rejoice, 

She quavers through the hymn. 
She cannot keep the time or key, 

But all her slips are drowned. 
Unnoticed, save perhaps by me, 
In the great organ's sound. 

Once her young voice rang clear and sweet 

In the old-fashioned choir, 
And made at least one brave heart beat 

With quickening desire ; 
Still joining in the swell of song, 

Telling to God her praise, 
She scarcely thinks her voice less strong 

Than in her girlhood days. 



I02 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

Poor broken voice ! Yet why the thought? 

Soon it will be made whole ; 
E'en now may not God's ear have caught 

The music of that soul? 
And when, ere long, she lifts her voice 

In the great choir sublime, 
Her praise will sound where all rejoice. 

And none sing; out of time. 



IN OLD SAINT JOHN'S. IO3 



IN OLD SAINT JOHN'S. 

SWEET boyish voices in the choir, 
Ye fall upon my ears 
In strains that unto praise inspire, 

Or melt my heart to tears. 
Through painted windows streams the sun ; 

The white-robed priests intone ; 
And as my soul's prayer is begun, 
I make your plea my own. 

And in this sweetly solemn place. 

Where falls the sunlight dim, 
I see the blessed Master's face, 

And turn my eyes on Him. 
O heart of mine, once pure, but long 

To ways of sin enticed. 
Come, let us kneel, with prayerful song. 

Here at the feet of Christ. 



104 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

Blest consolation ! Let me make 

Confession of my sin, 
And, by the faith I cherish, take 

Christ's word my heart within ; 
For me He died, for me He lives. 

In the Most Holy Three, 
And perfect absolution gives, 

My soul from sin to free. 

Shall I not cheerfully resign 

A world so filled with strife, 
When He, my gracious Lord divine, 

For me gave up His life ! 
Let me be filled with power of grace. 

And sacred fervor deep. 
So may my heart, in every place. 

Its Lent forever keep. 

Washington, 
February, iSgi. 



AT VESPERS. 105 



AT -VESPERS. 

^^ T ET us confess our sins," I hear the priest 
§ ^ As one who listens in a waking dream ; 

My soul looks up to God ; and lo ! I seem 
To see a table spread as for a feast. 
The Prodigal's return ! My shame hath ceased ; 

A waiting Father's glad eyes on me beam. 

So much hath he forgiv'n ! nor will he deem 
His wayward son deserving love the least. 

"According to thy promises." Blest word ! 
My soul looks upward, turning unto him ; 
My penitence God knoweth ; I abide 
Within his promise. He my prayer hath heard. 
In answering token there, in vision dim, 
I see the Cross and my Lord crucified. 



I06 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



A MOHAMMEDAN. 

"God is bttt one God." 

The Koran. 

IN the rose attar land, the boy first heard 
The chimes that call the Faithful unto prayer ; 
He knelt in reverence on the mosque's broad stair, 
And as the young soul, like a timid bird, 
Sought and yet feared to fly, his heart was stirred 
By the first precept he saw written there : 
"God is but one God," from the Koran, where 
The True Believer reads the Master's word. 

Shall I come less near Christ, if I, too, say : 

"God is but one God" ? Shall my brother fear 
That he is not to reach the longed-for goal? 
Nay ; let us kneel together when we pray ; 
I know that prayer to Allah God will hear, 
Because I know the whiteness of that soul. 



UNPREPARED. 10 7 



UNPREPARED. 

WHEN I was ill, there came to me one night 
A sad-browed angel, wTapped in gloom, 
who laid 
His hand on mine, and said : "Be not afraid; 
'Tis thy friend, Death : art ready for thy flight?" 
And in my heart there was no trace of fright, 
So, answering him, I smiled, and calmly said : 
" I am prepared, — my peace with God is made ; 
I do not fear to stand before his hght." 

"Thy peace with God?" The angel shook his head : 
"Bethink thee, then, of thy poor brother man ; 
Are there no erring ones still unredeemed ? 
Are there no homeless orphans still unfed ? 
Hast thou no chance to be Samaritan?" 

And lo, he passed away, and I had dreamed ! 



Io8 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



MY MORNING WALK HOME. 
(after the paper goes to press.) 

TIRED out, after my long night's work, 
And glad to start for home, 
I make friends with the shades that lurk 

In the dim morning gloom ; 
And in my solitary walk 

I do not lack for cheer ; 
Nature herself is there to talk, 
And never tires my ear. 

I drink deep draughts of the fresh air 

Cool with the morning dew ; 
The world seems stilled as if in prayer, 

And I feel reverent, too. 
The city sleeps ; there are no sounds, 

Save for the steady feet 
Of the patrolman on his rounds 

Along the quiet street. 



IklY MORNING WALK HOME. IO9 

But as I plod my way along, 

My heart finds voice to sing, 
And, softly, some familiar song 

Upon the air I fling ; 
And then, as if 't were only still 

Until the first should break 
The sleepy silence and the chill, 

Old Earth begins to wake. 

Far in the east a rosy light 

Begins to tinge the sky, 
Telling that Sol, in splendor dight, 

Will greet us by and by. 
A southwind, warm and soft and thin, 

Comes rustling through the trees. 
And all the birdikins begin 

To pipe their morning glees. 

The stars have long since flickered out ; 

Aurora's blush grows deep ; 
And early risers stir about. 

Still drowsy from their sleep ; 
The milkmen, with their noisy carts, 

Begin to rattle by ; 
A little newsboy by me darts, 

His ragged cap awry. 



D ROSES FOR MABEL. 

By houses where my luckier friends 

Still lie in Slumber's arms, 
I plod my way, until it ends, 

With all its morning charms. 
And while the world roars through the day, 

In dreams my cares take flight ; 
Sleep, blessed Sleep, comes to repay 

The toilers of the night. 



SKELETONS. 



SKELETONS. 

SINCE sheep first grazed, the old saws say, 
Each flock has had one lambkin sable, 
And men who hate to see folk gay 
Declare one sits at every table. 
"Beneath the smile the heart is cold." 

'" Tis fear that gives us proper meekness." 
Alas ! if all the truth be told. 

These stabs lay bare our dearest weakness. 

If we 've no sheep whose antics bring 

Disgrace upon our present station, 
We know he lived and had his fling 

In the preceding generation. 
Grim skeletons we all possess ! 

Dark guests who never leave their lodgings ! 
Worse than the duns who round us press. 

With them avail not all our dodgings. 



12 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

There 's Jones — grown rich, from toil set free, 

And longing to indulge ambition ; 
He 'd like to write : "John Jones, M. C," 

But cQuld he reach that proud position ? 
He fears to run, lest his campaign 

Should plunge his good name in disaster, 
Because he wears the Grim Past's chain. 

And Secret is his hardest master. 

Who knows his neighbor? You and I 

Have had our times of curious wonder : 
What makes me shun the Long- Gone- By? 

What Ghost is yours to tremble under? 
Dark is the mystery of each ; 

You 've had some folly, but — what was it ? 
You know my specter lurks in reach, — 

Yet you have never seen the closet. 

When no one else is near at hand. 

We like to take our ghosts from hiding. 
Grim, grinning ghouls ! they understand 

What we are never heard confiding. 
We know how long the past endures, 

We know what secrets men must smother ; 
For I have mine, and you have yours, 

And neither one deceives the other ! 



A MESSAGE. II3 



A MESSAGE. 
(a rondel for a fan.) 

Go, pretty fan, and bear from me 
Kind wishes to my lady fair, — 
Dear friendship, kindly thought and care, 
And hope that she may happy be. 

Wish her untold prosperity. 

And joy and health beyond compare ; 

Go, pretty fan, and bear from me 
Kind wishes to my lady fair. 

My kindest thoughts are hers, as she. 
Without this rhyme, is well aware ; 
But since I know not when or where 
We meet again, I say to thee : 
Go, pretty fan, and bear from me 
Kind wishes to my lady fair. 



114 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



THE CANNON SHOT AT FORTRESS 
MONROE. 

IN peaceful pyramids at rest they lie, 
Grim, dark reminders of war passed away ; 
Blue are the skies above the smiling bay, 
And off toward Newport News one may descry 
The white-winged merchantmen go sailing by, 
Where once the Congress and her consort lay, 
And where the Monitor, that famous day. 
Made all the world look on with wondering eye. 

Still the old fortress keeps its warlike air. 
But its great guns are silent, and these balls 

May lie unmoved, and rust and crumble there ; 
Only the bugle-note or drum-beat falls 

Upon the breeze, for Peace is everywhere. 
And War is History's dream that she recalls. 

1S91. 



COMEDY. 

The conjurer comeS with his rings 
And his Punch and Judy show. 

Austin Dobson : The Street Singer. 

Otir hearts are young ''neath wrinkled rind — 
Life 's more arnusing than loe thought. 

Andrew Lang: Balladeof Middle Aare. 



THE UNEXI^ECTED. I I 9 



THE UNEXPECTED. 

SHE was the reigning belle ! 
Straightway in love I fell ; 
Potent became the spell, — 
Too plain for masking. 
Then for a time I wooed, 
For her sweet favor sued. 
Till I 'd my courage screwed 
Up to the "asking." 

Out of the glare and heat, 
Where to the music's beat 
Tripped the untiring feet 

Of the gay dancer, 
Gently I led my fair 
Partner, so debonair, 
Told her the whole, and there 

Waited her answer. 



ROSES FOR MABEL. 

Sweet was the flowers' perfume, 
Weird the enshadowing gloom ; 
From the gay, lighted room 

Sweet strains came faintly ; 
Turning, she smiled, and blushed, 
Murmured surprise, and flushed, 
Then, in the silence hushed, 
Answered me quaintly. 

Doubtless you think she said, 
When she had raised her head, 
That which all lovers dread : 

"She 'd be my sister." 
That 's where you 've made a guess 
Wrong, as you must confess ; 
For she said softly : "Yes !" 

Yes ! and I kissed her ! 



A FAIR GAMBLER. 



A FAIR GAMBLER. 

GRACE, though a belle, and gay, 
Has notions that today 
Most of the girls scarce pay 
A moment's thought to ; 
Pohtics she thinks "grand !" 
She knows she 'd understand 
The ruling of the land ; — 
I 'm sure she ought to ! 

We wagered, for we run 

To different faiths. Great fun ! 

She bet on Harrison, 

And I on Grover : 
A dozen kisses she 
Owed if it went to me. 
(Oh, how I prayed G. C. 

Might still "hold over.") 



ROSES FOR MABEL. 

If she won, I must buy 
Twelve pounds of Huyler's. I 
Cannot, of course, deny 

I hoped she 'd lose it. 
So Tuesday came, and Fate 
Left me disconsolate. 
My ill luck to berate, 

And loudly abuse it. 

Today was the time set ; 
I went to pay my bet, 
And on the steps I met 

Her handsome cousin. 
We bowed ; he smiled, I thought, 
To see what I had brought ; 
Then I went in, but not 

To get that dozen ! 

What had so moved Miss Grace ? 
Blushes suffused her face ; 
She smoothed a rumpled lace : 

A vague impression — 
That cousin I — swept over me ; 
But, turning suddenly 
(Her conscience pricked, you see), 

She made confession : 



A FAIR GAMBLER, i; 

"You see, a week ago 

I feared I'd lose, and so 

I — 'hedged,' you call it? — Oh, 

How good ! you 've brought them." 
Alas, the artful maid ! 
I for her bonbons paid ; 
The kisses that I prayed — 

That cousin got them ! 
1888. 



124 ROSES FOR MABEL, 



IN QUARANTINE. 

ONE short week since I had not thought 
That I could ever be by aught 
So sore afflicted ; 
I pass the house within whose walls 
She is, and may not stop : my calls 
Are interdicted. 

Alas, how fitful is our bliss ! 
I may not go to her, and this 

By her own order. 
Here is the note she wrote it in, — 
To me ! — to me, who long have been 

Her heart's sole warder. 

The grand stone steps I mount no more ; 
I may not enter, as before, 

And clasp her to me ; 



IN QUAR.-VNTINE. 1 25 

Save for a dim light in her room, 
The house is silent, wrapped in gloom ; — 
I too am gloomy ! 

Not that she loves me less, although 
I 'm exiled to my studio 

And long-shunned easels ; 
But her small brother (poor dear lad ! ) 
Has got — what I have never had. 

Hang it ! — the measles ! 



126 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



MY NEIGHBOR SWEET. 

A FESTIVAL MEMORY. 

HER seat is just across the aisle ; 
Coming, we always meet, or going ; 
And oh ! she is so free from guile — 
Sweet as a rosebud freshly blowing ! 

You will not wonder that my mind 
Sometimes plays truant to the singing, 

For wheresoe'er the heart 's incHned, 
The thoughts are sure to go a- winging. 

She wears a smile : I hardly think 

That I could tell what else she 's wearing ; 

It might be blue — perhaps it 's pink ; 

I '11 not seem rude to her through staring. 

And all the "nicest" boys she knows ; 

They crowd about at intermission ; 
I do not think she means to "pose" — 

I '11 harbor no such supposition. 



MY NEIGHBOR SWEET. 1 27 

Never a concert misses she, 

Be it in afternoon or even, 
And so the glory seems to be 

A Httle more like that of Heaven. 

Dear little saint ! she likes to go ; 

Sad thought — though fortune so allows her, 
Save for the books, she would not know 

"The Golden Legend" from "Tannhauser !" 
1S90. 



128 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



TEMP-RA MUT-NT-R. 

AT college we had stood together, 
The closest sort of chums, 
Till Alma Mater loosed our tether. 

With deep encomiums ; 
Later, I chanced to be left over 

An hour in Gotham town, 
Thought of the days we 'd spent in clover. 
And went to find Ned Brown. 

Cabby stopped where the "d'rect'ry" stated ; 

The name was on the door ; 
Inside, I sat a time and waited 

My dear old friend of yore. 
Ned's sister came to entertain me, 

Of course — her brother's chum. 
Why, Gotham town, shouldst thou constrain me 

Into such snares to come? 



TEMP-RA MUT-NT-R, 1 29 

We talked of music, art, "the season," 

The last Assembly ball. 
Could I wish Ned more prompt, with reason ? 

Ah, really, not at all. 
But when he came, what hearty greeting ! 

No more could be desired ; 
I was so glad of such a meeting, — 

So sorry she retired ! 

Gotham, since then I 've learned to know you, 

And all your thoroughfares. 
Stop ! No. 10. I need n't show you 

What name the doorplate bears ; 
Once it had never met my vision, 

When first I rang the bell ; 
Now that I walk in fields Elysian, 

I know it fairly well. 

Inside, I find the same surroundings ; 

They 've now a friendly air ; 
The poor piano knows my poundings ; 

I have my special chair ; 
And Ned, with gloves and hat, chats, standing 

Ready to go down town, 
And leaves, on hearing, from the landing, 

The rustle of a gown ! 



130 ROSES FOR MABEL. 



THE NEW RILEY. 

THE fad among the poets now is imitating Jim ; 
They make their verses tumble down in 
sections, just like him ; 
The Whitcomb Riley ending leads you down to an 
abyss ; 

This. 
Like 
Up 
Suppose we change the thing and boost 'em 

Suppose you are describing how you met a summer 

girl 
And wooed, and won, and lost her, in Narragan- 

sett's whirl ; 
You thought you had your heiress hooked and 
landed high and dry. 

High. 
Sky 
Knocked 

But she was fooling and your plans got 



THE NEW RILEY. I3I 

Perhaps you 're on the street, and make your plans 

to be a bear ; 
You buy a lot of wheat "dirt cheap," and then you 

get a scare ; 
You let it go for nothing, and before quotations 

close, 

Goes. 
She 
Up 
It takes a sudden spurt, you see, and 

And scores of things might be described with like 

poetic wiles, 
The theater hat, the iceman's bill — all Eiffel tower 

styles ; 
With novelties and mark-down sales, and bargain 
lots in rhyme, 

Climb. 
To 
Got 
If you expect to sell your wares, you 've 

Then here 's to Jimmy Riley, the feller wot kin 

spell 
In the style of old Josh Billings, although not quite 

so well ; 



132 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

We 've learned that if a poet can make his thinker 

hop, 

Top. 
On 
Keep 
And write a ladder-poem, he can 



AT THE END OF THE WALTZ. 1 33 



AT THE END OF THE WALTZ. 

GO now, Dear Fan ; she will not see 
The kiss I 've hidden in your fringes ; 
I may not dream that thoughts of me 
Will cause the blush her cheek that tinges. 

But when you softly meet her lips, 
My fond caress shall leave its hiding, 

And, mingling in that sweet eclipse, 
Render my boldness past her chiding. 



NOTES. 



NOTES. 137 



NOTES. 

TO THEE, BELOVED. 

These lines were sent from Washington, Christ- 
mas, 1890, with roses and a copy of Louise Chand- 
ler Moulton's "In the Garden of Dreams." 

LOVE SAW THE LIKENESS. 

Going through the Corcoran Gallery of Art, 
one day in Christmas week of 1890, I came sud- 
denly upon a portrait, unnumbered and untitled, 
which bore a strong resemblance to One far away, 
though on close scrutiny the fine lines of the face 
seemed stern, rather than gentle, as in the face of 
the One I knew. I sought out the owner of the 
picture, who had brought it from Paris. It is a 
new conception of Charlotte Corday, usually repre- 
sented as in prison, but here in a street habit, out- 
side the door of the bath where she slew Marat. 
Studied in detail, the picture reveals a knife clenched 
in the right hand and a letter, "Au Citoyen Marat" 
in the left. After that, I often stole in to look at the 



138 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

picture, and the thought came to me : if the hke- 
ness be a faithful one, how strange that God should 
have molded in hke form the personification of 
purity and gentleness and one who anticipated 
the vengeance of God as did Charlotte Corday. 

THE NEW CUPin. 

"Tom." The champion pole vaulter of Yale. 

"Harry." Since these lines were written, a 
famous athlete, and champion half-mile runner of 
America and France. 

BALLADE OF A PLEASANT BECOLLECTION. 

" We gay friends." M. S. B., H. A. W., Mabel 
and I. 

JOHN B YLE O'BEILL Y. 

The seventh and eighth stanzas refer to the 
grand review of the Grand Army of the Republic, 
which took place in Boston, the second day after 
the gifted Irishman's sudden death at Hull. 

BE A U BR UMMEL L. 

I thought, and still think, Mansfield's "Beau 
Brummell" one of the greatest creations of the 
modern stage. 

SENATOR HOAR. 

During the winter of 1890-91, the LI. Congress 
being then in its short session, I frequently went in- 
to the Senate Chamber to hear the debate upon the 



NOTES. 139 

Elections (called by its opponents the Force) Bill. 
Mr. Hoar, as chairman of the Committee on Privi- 
leges and Elections, conducted the debate for the 
Republican side, and I was often called upon to ad- 
mire his patriotic replies to the attacks of his op- 
ponents. The bill failed to pass, but Mr. Hoar's 
eloquent and patriotic defence of the measure I 
shall never forget. 

FATHER McGLYNN. 

Though not endorsing his political ideas, I re- 
alized how honest and catholic a man he was. 

TEE PROUDEST NAME. 

This was written in 18S8, after Miss Howe's 
great success at the Worcester Festival, and before 
her return to Europe. She has always been loyal 
to America and to New England. 

THE MARCH OF THE HEROES. 

My father can bequeath to me no legacy more 
valued, no heritage more honorable, than the mem- 
ory of his volunteer service in the armies of the 
Republic. 

PINE GROVE SCHOOL. 

"My children do no greater things." My 
dearly-beloved friend, M. S. B., so faithful in her 
work that she realized my ideal of the teacher who 
makes the district school "the corner-stone of the 
nation." 



140 ROSES FOR MABEL. 

IN OLD SAINT JOHN'S. 

The quaint old church, where Washington 
himself went, when he spent the Sabbath in the 
city, is always thronged with earnest worshippers. 
This was the vesper service, near the end of Lent. 

MY MORNING WALK HOME. 

In these days, when I was in the treadmill of 
a morning paper, I had a two-mile walk before me, 
when the paper had been "made up." With eyes 
aching from the glare of the incandescent lamps, 
brain weary and body fainting, I v/ent down the 
narrow, dingy stairway, into the cool night, with a 
sense of rehef and joy, and the long walk soothed 
me and put me in better humor with the world. 

MY NEIGHBOR SWEET. 

So many people go to our Festival that they 
may display their good clothes and be seen there ! 



This book has been printed, not for the many, 
but for One. Many of these rhymes I would not 
wish to preserve in a book issued to the general 
public, for no one realizes their hterary short- 
comings more than I ; but for the sentiments ex- 
pressed I have no apologies to make. I have print- 
ed this little book with my own hands, from my 
own types, on my own press, at the request of the 
One for whom many of the verses it contains were 



NOTES. 141 

directly written, and to whose gentle influence the 
others owe any nobility or strength of thought they 
may possess. It has been wholly a labor of love. 
The twenty copies issued are intended to reacli 
only our immediate friends, but should some anti- 
quary, years hence, come upon a forgotten copy of 
this little book, let him find here no vaulting ambition 
in rhyme, but only the token of a pure and uplifting 
love and an unfaltering trust in God. 






MABEL. 



